The versatile New York-based electronic producer on early encounters with Miami bass, Black Dice, and why he dislikes being pegged as "outsider house."

When it comes to 23-year-old Anthony Naples, the word to keep in mind is "versatility"—few artists manage to convincingly produce both rough-hewn techno and sweetly melodic slow-burners, let alone successfully intertwine those distant aesthetics into nearly every track. The New York-based producer channels the distribution wing of his burgeoning label Proibito through Rubadub, the enormously influential record store at the nexus of Glasgow's riotous dance scene, and helmed the inaugural 12" from the shop's own imprint. It's not a bad start for someone whose first ever track dropped just 18 months ago; released to instant acclaim, "Mad Disrespect" has been lighting up dancefloors ever since—not that Naples would ever admit it.

Unerringly courteous and good-humored, he is also intensely modest, almost to a fault. Following a commanding set in support of Four Tet at London superclub Fabric—which sees the cavernous room fill up within a half hour—I received a text apologizing for any nerves and assuring me that I needn't run the feature if I don't want to. He is, of course, kidding, not that you'd immediately know it.

That performance is the first on the fifth and longest European jaunt he has embarked on yet; before last spring, he had never left the States. Meeting away from any crowds for bagels on a drizzly morning before the show, Anthony speaks about his time working at Captured Tracks, bristles with excitement about his return to Berlin's infamous techno mecca Berghain, and explains the transatlantic difference in cream cheese.

Two days after our chat, he popped up as a special guest on Four Tet's eight-hour radio show alongside the likes of Floating Points, Pearson Sound and Caribou—artists he required a fake ID to watch at New York's Mister Saturday Night parties only a couple of years prior.

Pitchfork: What was your musical intake when you were younger?

Anthony Naples: Well, my mom was really into the electro that was going on in south Florida in the 1990s: stuff like Egyptian Lover and 69 Boyz was always on the radio. "My Boo" was a big one for her. At 15, my friend put me onto Aphex Twin, Ceephax Acid Cru, and Black Dice's Beaches and Canyons—just a few guys hanging in a basement, trading DATA-CDs.

Pitchfork: Was the interest at that point because it was so out there? I used to listen a lot of Venetian Snares when I was 15 purely because the noise was so exciting.

AN: Yeah, exactly, that's what it is. Most people in the States grow up listening to guitar music, but a lot of my friends were into weirdo shit, so we got into this purposefully—like, "If we can't get into a club for another six years, let's check out this hardcore show!" Circumstantially downloading illegal music was not an option by any means when growing up, so I was buying CDs right from the get go, and picking up records pretty young too. I don't have 100,000 songs on my hard drive. I think it's good because I can't go neck to neck with everybody who has the entire Dance Mania catalogue on their iPod.

Pitchfork: What's your setup like at the moment?

AN: Various pieces of hardware—it's mostly sample-based. Every record I've tried to find something new to add to what I have, and what I do.I'm just trying to step it up, both in terms of quality of recording and to make something that withstands these genre tags. I want to break the "outsider house" mold, if only to prove to myself that I can.

Pitchfork: Are you cautious about being put into a box?

AN: Yeah, I'm weary about it. The way people are represented, they sometimes not only embody a genre, but become a genre themselves. Then what do they have to bring to the table, other than a reiteration of this sound that 50 kids in their bedrooms emulated and made 50 times more "fresh," y'know? Especially with dance music, every release is highly scrutinized but you only have 10 or 12 minutes to say your part. It's tricky. But then Joy Orbison or Blawan, for example, have completely ridden themselves of that tag they were given from one or two records. There's no coincidence in that, they've taken control of their situation and do it on their own terms.

Pitchfork: What is it about "outsider house," then?

AN: It doesn't describe anything. The term is garbage. There's nothing outsider about the people making it—is a big square-wave bass going to make it normal again? It's always been funny to me to be lumped in with Huerco S. or something, because we make completely different styles of music. I don't think at least I'm blowing people's minds with experimental ideas—it's not an overtly conceptualized art thing. I know what makes for functional club music, but I can't do it yet. Hopefully soon! [Laughs]

Pitchfork: Do you get uncomfortable under the spotlight?

AN: What I do is really simple: I go to places and I play other people's music off records that I bought in a store, as well as making music for someone else to play or put it on and enjoy. At the end of the day, it's really not about the person who's DJing…well, it is and it isn't. People know to respect the person because of what they've heard, and they're bringing their selection, but it's not about me, and so to be put in the position where it is feels a little weird. But you have to play the game to extent. You need to do different things to keep up the cycle of what people who came before me—who came before all of us—started. Somewhere along the line someone had to put their face into it. I just don't like to get too up in people's faces about it. It's always nice for people to seek you out.

Pitchfork: That being said, how have you processed the increase in attention towards your music?

AN: It's got a little busier, but has developed really organically, and I'm extremely thankful for that. In the long run I'll be much happier things have developed slower—it's been 18 months since "Mad Disrespect" came out, and that's not even a long time. But in the world of electronic music that's a lifetime. It's good to keep a steady pace. As busy as it gets, I always filter out things that don't make sense to the overall goal I have in mind—I have a pretty crystal clear idea of what I'm doing. I've maybe ticked off 5% so far.

Pitchfork: What does that entail long-term?

AN: When you hear about Arthur Russell, no-one's like, "Oh man, he played the sickest. gig. ever." I mean, I'm sure he did, but they talk about his records, and that lasts a long time. DJing has been really rewarding, the travelling especially, but my main concern is to make a certain quality of interesting music. I think a lot of people work in a trajectory where you make some remixes and sell some records with the purpose of getting "up here." I guess I look at it horizontally. It's like a game of racquetball or something—as long as I can do better than the last time I played against myself, to supersede that, then I'm accomplishing the goal.